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The wrought-iron gates of Bullworth Academy loomed like some medieval fortress designed to keep out barbarians—or, in this case, to keep them in. Taylor's small, sneaker-clad feet hesitated on the cusp of entry. His eyes, as pale as the first frost of winter, surveyed the menagerie of students before him. Each faction was a universe unto itself—the jocks throwing footballs with brutish glee, the greasers slouching near their bikes, the nerds huddled in anxious conversation, and the girls—from cheerleaders to loners—casting evaluative glances that could either anoint you as someone or sentence you to eternal nobodyness.

Taylor was jostled violently out of his observations by a collision with a larger student—a wall of a boy who hardly even glanced his way before barreling forward. Taylor fell, a heap of vulnerability on the cold, unforgiving pavement. No one helped him up; Bullworth was not that kind of place. His cheeks flushed with a color that contrasted sharply against his fair, freckled skin, he picked himself up and scurried towards the sanctuary he presumed the boy's dormitory to be.

The door of the boy's dorm was less of a welcoming entryway and more of a portal into an alternate universe where the laws of civility and kindness were suspended. Taylor stepped inside cautiously, his eyes falling to the piece of paper clutched in his nervous hand—Room 212. As he looked up, he found himself being measured, weighed, and, in a way that made his skin prickle, somewhat admired.

"New meat, huh?" The voice was silk laced with venom. Gary Smith leaned against the corridor wall, his smile a riddle Taylor didn't want to solve.

Gary’s eyes roved over Taylor, sweeping from his slightly swept brown bangs down to his delicate features. Those eyes paused just a moment longer than necessary on Taylor's heart-shaped face before hardening again.

"Room 212, eh?" Gary snatched the paper from Taylor’s hand. "That’s close to me. Very cozy."

"Yeah, I guess," Taylor stammered, attempting to reclaim his room assignment paper, but Gary held it just out of reach.

"You guess? Oh, you’ll come to find out. Bullworth has a way of…educating its students on the facts of life."

Taylor felt the corners of his mouth twitch into an involuntary frown. "Can I have my paper back?"

Gary’s eyes locked onto Taylor's. In that moment, a galaxy of unsaid things seemed to hover in the air. Then Gary returned the paper, his fingertips lightly brushing against Taylor’s in a gesture that seemed almost deliberate.

"Don't look so sad. You might find you like it here. We're all one big, dysfunctional family." Gary's voice had softened, but the glint in his eyes suggested a thousand cautionary tales.

"And you are?" Taylor found the courage to ask, finally breaking the one-sided conversational tennis match.

"Gary. Gary Smith. Remember that name, kid. You'll be hearing it a lot."

He pushed off from the wall, walking past Taylor with a swish of his jacket. But before he vanished around the corner, he looked back once more, his eyes meeting Taylor's with an expression that was part menace, part something else—something that not even Gary Smith seemed to fully understand. Then he was gone, leaving Taylor to wonder what strange universe he had stepped into and what, if any, were the laws that governed it.

Taylor swallowed, his eyes still locked on the empty space where Gary had stood. The boy’s dorm around him suddenly seemed filled with echoes, each one whispering the same unsettling word:

Danger.

And so began Taylor’s journey through the labyrinth of Bullworth Academy—a place where angels and demons wore the same youthful faces, and where innocence was not lost but taken, often by those who had none to spare.

Taylor’s room, 212, was unremarkable—a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, all worn by time and previous occupants. The room felt steeped in the residue of adolescent hopes, fears, and secrets. Taylor unpacked methodically, as though order could somehow protect him from the chaos beyond these walls. Each fold of a shirt, each placement of a book, was a small act of defiance against the entropy of Bullworth Academy.

Shower next. The water was scalding, then freezing, then tolerable. As the droplets hit his skin, Taylor tried to wash away not just the grime of the journey but the weight of Gary's gaze, the sting of the pavement, the isolation that wrapped itself around him like a shroud. When he stepped out, he felt marginally renewed, a small ember of determination glowing in his chest.

His first class was English. The map of the campus seemed straightforward enough, but as Taylor stepped into the corridor, he felt like a sailor navigating uncharted waters, where monsters lurked beneath the surface. He clutched his bag tightly and moved with purpose, eyes forward, the low hum of his internal mantra—don’t be noticed, don’t be noticed—keeping him company.

And then he saw it.

Gary stood at the center of a small whirlwind of violence. He and two other boys, both with the unmistakable air of henchmen, were beating another student. The victim's pleas for mercy were drowned out by the laughter of his attackers and the thundering of Taylor's heart.

Instinct screamed at Taylor to intervene, to cry out, to do something. But that ember of determination was doused by a wave of fear. He was a stranger here, a lamb among wolves. He had no allies, no authority, no power. And so, with a surge of self-loathing that made his stomach churn, Taylor hurried past the scene, his gaze fixed on the floor.

In the classroom, he took a seat at the back, trying to make himself as small as possible. The teacher, Mr. Galloway, was a sad, disheveled figure who seemed as out of place at Bullworth as Taylor did. As the lesson progressed, Taylor found it impossible to concentrate. The image of the beating replayed itself over and over in his mind. The victim’s eyes, wide with terror and disbelief, seemed to bore into him, accusing him, condemning him.

When the bell rang, Taylor gathered his things and left the classroom as quickly as he could, avoiding the gaze of his classmates. He felt their eyes on him, though, as if they somehow knew that he had seen something he shouldn't have and had done nothing to stop it.

As he made his way back to his room, Taylor felt the weight of Bullworth Academy closing in on him. It was a world where might made right, where the strong preyed on the weak, where silence was not just golden, but mandatory. He had entered this world with a heart full of hope, but already he could feel it being chipped away, piece by piece, by the relentless grindstone of Bullworth’s dark reality.

In the sanctuary of his room, Taylor closed the door and leaned against it, feeling the cool wood against his skin. He felt a surge of despair, as if he were being pulled under by a current too strong to fight. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to muster the strength to face the rest of the day.

He had survived his first encounter with the dark underbelly of Bullworth Academy. But it was only the beginning. The monsters, he knew, were always lurking just below the surface, ready to drag him down into the depths.

As night fell, Taylor found himself unable to settle into the solitude of his room. He decided to venture into the dorm's common room, hoping the ambient noise of the television would distract him from the turmoil of his thoughts. The room was deserted, save for the flickering light of the TV casting macabre shadows on the walls.

Taylor settled onto the couch and flipped through the channels until he stumbled upon a late-night horror movie—a campy slasher film from the 80s. The kind with bad acting, worse special effects, and a plot full of holes. It was perfect. He settled in, letting the mindless violence on screen wash over him.

About halfway through the movie, the door to the common room creaked open, and Gary stepped inside. Taylor's heart sank. Of all the people he had hoped to avoid, Gary was at the top of the list.

"Well, well, well, if it isn’t the new kid," Gary sneered as he sauntered over to the couch. "Watching a little horror movie, are we?"

Taylor shifted uncomfortably in his seat, aware of the weight of Gary's gaze. "Yeah, I guess."

Gary plopped down on the couch next to Taylor, close enough that their thighs were almost touching. Taylor felt a jolt of electricity at the proximity. He could feel the heat radiating off Gary's body, could smell the faint musk of his cologne.

Gary seemed to sense his discomfort and smirked. "What's the matter, new kid? Scared?"

Taylor forced a laugh. "Of this movie? Hardly."

Gary's smirk widened. "Good. I wouldn’t want you to have nightmares."

They settled into an uneasy silence, the screams from the television filling the void. As the movie progressed, Taylor found himself becoming more and more engrossed in the plot, despite its flaws. The tension on screen seemed to mirror the tension in the room, and Taylor found himself holding his breath as the killer closed in on his next victim.

As the final act unfolded, Taylor felt his eyelids growing heavy. The events of the day had taken their toll, and the comforting darkness of the common room was lulling him to sleep. He fought against it, not wanting to show any weakness in front of Gary, but it was a losing battle.

As the credits rolled, Taylor's head drooped onto Gary's shoulder, his body surrendering to exhaustion. Gary stiffened at the contact, then, after a moment, relaxed. He didn't move, didn’t push Taylor away. Instead, he sat there, still as a statue, as if afraid any movement might shatter the fragile peace they had found.

As Taylor drifted off to sleep, he was aware, on some level, of the warmth of Gary's body, of the rhythm of his breathing, of the steady beat of his heart. It was a small comfort in a world that seemed determined to grind him down.

For that night, at least, the monsters were kept at bay.